It’s hard to believe that my four children will soon be off school for a full ten days during spring break. One evening, after finally getting all the kids to bed, my husband asked me what I had planned for the Monday following Easter. Confused, I inquired further. He mentioned checking the school lunch schedule and noticed they had added an extra day off.
That’s when the dread really hit me. A short holiday is manageable—just a few days of lounging in pajamas, watching movies, and enjoying the local park. But ten days? Does anyone in charge of scheduling realize that’s a whopping 240 hours and 14,400 minutes?
I adore my kids, truly. I cherish our occasional lazy days together. But ten consecutive days of waking up at dawn, dealing with cranky kids snacking on jelly beans and chocolate rabbits feels impossible for any parent. By nine in the morning, sibling squabbles have escalated to full-blown chaos. I’m inundated with dramatic reports of who touched whom, who forgot to flush, and who’s claimed the last Lego.
It’s bedlam. And of course, they’re “starving.” The healthy breakfast I provided—eggs, fruit, and toast—seems to have vanished from their memories. Before I know it, I’m frantically searching for summer camp options (the expensive ones we can’t afford) while the kids zoom around the driveway in their pajamas. Just minutes outside and they’re already clamoring for lunch because they claim they’re about to starve, although it’s a chilly 62 degrees, and they’re bored despite having bikes, sidewalk chalk, and bubbles at their disposal.
By the time one o’clock rolls around, it’s nap time for the baby. But she’s so hyped from the morning’s madness that settling down proves impossible. I abandon my “no electronics” rule, allowing the kids to watch a movie. Naturally, they can’t agree on what to watch. The toddler is chanting for Daniel Tiger, the kindergartener is screaming for “Paw Patrol,” my eight-year-old wants superheroes, and my tween, who’s too cool for everything, is rolling her eyes at all suggestions.
After much back and forth, they finally settle on Wonder—but not without demanding popcorn first. Yes, we just had lunch, but that’s not even on their radar. As I’m popping a massive batch, I contemplate if anyone would be willing to hire me for a full-time job right away. I might even pay them to take me on.
Let’s be real: no amount of venti lattes can prepare me for spring break. Once my husband shared the news about the extended break, I realized this is just a preview of the madness that summer will bring. If ten days of “quality time” is challenging, imagine trying to manage three full months.
Sure, I could be organized. With my educational background, I know how to create and execute a structured plan. I could buy educational workbooks, plan visits to museums, create a chore chart, and even attempt Pinterest-inspired crafts that require special ordering materials from New Zealand. I could be the ultimate summer planner.
But “could” doesn’t mean I will. We could enroll the kids in themed summer camps, but those are prohibitively expensive, especially with four children. My working mom friends are grappling with the ethics of robbing a bank just to afford childcare during the summer.
We could also visit grandparents, but that’s a week of laundry and packing beforehand, and another week of unpacking and tackling cranky kids when we return. Playdates sound nice, but they require me to clean up the mess in the kitchen and scrub the guest bathroom in preparation for visitors—only to spend my time serving snacks and reminding the older ones to play nicely with the younger ones.
Every option feels exhausting and miserable, and I know that our summer will be a roller coaster ride of ups and downs. We’ll have wonderful moments like attending family weddings, swimming until sunset, and grilling dinners together. But I also anticipate the endless bickering, sunburns, and chores.
Family life is chaotic, messy, and undeniably magical, all at the same time. I know I’m supposed to relish every moment and make each day count, but right now, I need to go break up a fight over a coveted Lego brick and check the toilet to make sure it isn’t clogged again.
Welcome to spring break, everyone. Here’s to a preview of what summer has in store.
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Summary
The author expresses anxiety over managing her children’s summer break after realizing the challenges of a short spring break. Despite her love for her kids, she feels overwhelmed by the chaos of sibling rivalry, constant demands for food, and the pressure to create a structured, enjoyable summer filled with activities. She reflects on the options available to her, including camps and family visits, and acknowledges that family life is a mix of chaos and joy.